By Patti Parish-Kaminski, Publisher
Our 1993 engagement photo. I’m on the right – still with the hair.
Thirty-two years ago on this very day, I married Mr. Kaminski. It was a grand affair at the Omni in Houston, interestingly enough, attended by many Fort Bend friends that are still in our lives. Years ago, 20ish years into the marvelous matrimony, we attended a fundraising event at Safari Texas in Richmond, Texas and literally everyone at the table had attended our nuptials. It’s a small world.
Fortunately, before we decided to tie the proverbial knot, we were friends, and simply astonishing at times, we are still friends today. That’s a big thing when searching for a lifelong partner. You’ve got to like the person, enjoy spending time together and share some similar interests, because this thing called marriage is an E ticket ride.
I’m literally stunned at times how well Mr. Kaminski knows me yet still comes home every day. I can be a tough row to hoe. Now I will look cute while doing it, but I can run “hotter than a $2 pistol” as George would say.
This past Sunday, Mr. Kaminski and I had been apart for about a week. We got in the car to head to dinner, and while holding my hands together, I exclaimed, “Let me tell you what happened!”
“Did you cut yourself?” was Mr. Kaminski’s reply. In all fairness, that’s a thing. I am not good with sharp objects.
“No,” I proudly replied. “I haven’t touched a knife or pair of scissors in over a week just to avoid that circumstance. Aren’t you proud?”
“Very. Did you catch something on fire?” was his next inquiry.
I looked at him absolutely flabbergasted. I quickly did the mental math. There were no cameras in the house. I hadn’t told anyone. The local fire department was not involved – this time.
“How did you know?” I queried wide-eyed.
“Well, you’re holding your hands together excited to tell me something. It has to be an injury or a fire.”
In his defense, I have been party to a couple of miniscule inflammatory incidents during our marriage. There was a microwave that went up in flames, a fry daddy, even my Mercedes once. Apparently, it was a transmission issue. Who knew?
It was a fire, a very small fire, and once again, it involved a microwave but without the popcorn. I truly didn’t know that when you removed the glass tray to wash it and placed items in the microwave on a paper towel to warm, the towel ended up directly on the heating element and voila! You get flames.
Mr. Kaminski just shook his head and smiled. We then went on to discuss our anniversary trip. His next query was not on point.
“Do you think we can pack together in one large suitcase so we just have one?”
I gently patted him on the shoulder and said, “You’re so cute.”
“Yeah, I knew as the question was coming out of my mouth it was not happening.”
Guess he still has to try after all these years. Gotta run, porch sitters. I’m on day two of packing. See y’all next week – on the porch!
Patti Parish-Kaminski
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